The Teufort Nine
by LostPhysics
Summary: How do nine professional killers of all different ages, backgrounds and stages of sanity cope with living together in the New Mexico desert, and what kind of shenanigans occur on their days off? You might well ask…(the answer involves a lot of bickering, the odd moment of friendship, dredging up their pasts, and somehow still having time to wonder about the truth behind their work)
1. The Surprise

**A/N: **Hi all, and welcome to my first attempt at writing fanfiction. I don't know where this story is going to go in the long run, if it's going to develop a plot later on (I have a few plans but they're very sketchy), or even whether I'm going to finish it, but for now it's just a bunch of short stories to get a feel for the characters and their world. I'm just making it up as I go along.

I was kind of nervous about posting this, but here goes! Hope you enjoy it!

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><p><span><strong>The Teufort Nine<strong>

**Chapter 1 – The Surprise**

_**Teufort Outskirts, Friday evening**_

"_My skill is vasted on zis team!"_

"_AFFIRMATIVE. YOU MAGGOTS ARE AN EMBARASSMENT."_

_A murky dusk had settled over the town of Teufort, casting long shadows over the nine downtrodden figures making their way through the outskirts, to where an inconspicuous van was waiting to take them home to the RED mercenary base._

"_Y'know, we would've stood a chance against those BLU's today if you dummies listened to me more…"_

"_Scout, if your 'advice' was as useful as your contribution today, we would still be walking home in disgrace."_

"_Go to hell, Spy. I definitely killed more BLU's than you today! Or maybe you were just too busy hidin' to see. I was a freakin' BLUR, man, I-"_

"_Settle down, boys - what's done is done. Y'all save it for next week."_

_Their voices continued to drift upwards into the gathering dark, even when the ninth member of the group began to fall behind, distracted by something other than frustration and wounded pride; something was making a small scuffling sound in the shadows, from behind a heap of abandoned rubbish. _

_The figure tilted its gas-masked head to one side curiously. After some consideration, it ambled forwards and began to push aside the debris, eventually uncovering what seemed to be the source of the noise…and what it saw, hidden inside a crumbling cardboard box at the bottom of the heap, drew out a sound that might have been a gasp of wonder._

"_Pyro? Whatcha rummagin' in there for, son?"_

_Pyro shot upright and spun around, hiding its newfound treasure behind its back, head cocked innocently. Engineer stood several feet away, looking on with a bemused expression. _

"_Come on - we'd better get back to base. I'm goddamn starvin'." He turned and walked after the rest of the team, giving Pyro the opportunity to slip its mysterious treasure into one of the many capacious, hidden pockets of its asbestos-lined suit, before scampering after him._

_-.-.-.-.-.-_

_**Teufort RED Base, Saturday morning**_

Saturday morning had finally dragged itself into Teufort. It had been a hard week for the RED team; they had suffered several bloody defeats at the hands of the BLU's, and when the weekend ceasefire came at long last, they all stumbled gratefully into it, eager to put the week behind them and forget it had ever existed.

Soldier had been up at the crack of dawn, as usual, and had already returned from his morning patrol to yell good morning to his collection of heads.

"LOOK LIVELY, TROOPS - IT MAY BE WEDNESDAY…or maybe it's Tuesday…which one comes after Thursday again? …IT MAY BE THE WEEKEND, BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU LAYABOUTS CAN JUST LAY ABOUT! WE ARE SOLDIERS, AND WE HAVE A COUNTRY TO PROTECT EVERY DAY OF THE WEEK!"

His rallying cries were drifting through the wall into the mess, occasionally jolting Demoman awake as he nodded off, head drooping dangerously close to his bowl of porridge.

Next to him, Medic was sitting upright in his chair, already working his way through a pile of paperwork, as Heavy joined him with all the reluctance of a bear emerging from hibernation.

"Guten Morgen, Herr Heavy" Medic said cheerily.

"Doktor," came the grumbled reply.

"You two sleep well, huh? Finally got a room?" jeered Scout. The youngest member of the team was already on his second can of BONK!, wide awake and starting to bounce a little from the caffeine. He seemed oblivious to the glares sent in his direction.

An ungroomed and half-awake Sniper had just stumbled in from his van and made a beeline for the kettle, favourite mug at the ready for his first coffee of the day. Spy, unsurprisingly, was nowhere to be seen.

_And that's everybody…just leaves Pyro_, thought Engineer cheerfully as he looked back to his copy of the Teufort Reader. It was going to be a nice, quiet weekend, just what they all -

CRASH.

The newspaper drooped in Engineer's hands. The room was quiet for a moment before the door burst open and Pyro strolled in. It stopped as it saw everyone staring, planting its hands on its hips and tilting its head.

"Hrmf mmrh?"

"Whatcha all lookin' at?" Engineer translated automatically. He seemed to be the only one who could understand Pyro's mumbling, and had taken to translating for the rest of the team.

Pyro and Engineer had become friends early on in their careers at Teufort - the rest of the team had been daunted at first, not knowing what to make of their mute, masked teammate. But Dell Conagher was an engineer, like his father, and his father's father before, and a damn good one at that - he solved problems that nobody else knew how to approach on a daily basis. As such, he had been the first to approach the enigmatic Pyro. Through mutual curiosity, the two soon established a rapport that quickly became friendship.

While Engineer still knew very little about his mysterious teammate, he enjoyed its company. Pyro loved to watch Engineer work on his machines, and often followed him into the workshop where it would watch with fascination as he worked, or listen attentively as Engineer chatted about this and that, occasionally offering its own surprisingly perceptive opinion. It even listened when he lapsed into techno-babble, which usually sent the rest of the team running.

"Mornin'," he said amiably as Pyro wandered over to him and took a seat opposite.

Pyro mumbled in response, but was cut off as Scout bounded over.

"Hey Mumbles, what was all that about, huh? Did ya-AH-AH…CHOOO!"

Scout looked just as surprised by the sudden noise as everyone else as they turned to look at him. Medic seemed especially interested.

"Are you feeling unvell, Herr Scout?" he said hopefully.

"Nah, Doc, I'm fi- AHH-CHOOOO!"

"Are you sure? I may need to run a few tests, just to make sure it's nothing serious…"

But Scout was already out of the door, followed by Heavy's roars of laughter - it was no secret that doctors terrified him, and the thought of being poked and prodded by one, especially Medic, was the stuff of his nightmares.

Engineer shook his head and looked back to Pyro. He could understand its muffled attempts at speech, but he had also learned how to read the angles Pyro held its head and shoulders at like facial expressions. At this moment in time, Pyro looked amused, and perhaps a little…sheepish?

He chuckled. "Scout ain't allergic to you, son. Say, you do seem to have somethin' on your suit, though - is that…hair?"

Pyro looked down in surprise, and then back up in horror. Engineer was right - there were several short strands of what looked very much like hair adhering to Pyro's flame-retardant suit.

_Where did those come from? _

The question was on the tip of Engineer's tongue as Pyro suddenly leapt up and bolted from the room, leaving him to shrug in genuine bewilderment as the others looked questioningly at him. Pyro was acting stranger than usual today…Engineer suddenly found himself thinking of the night before, when Pyro had fallen behind on their way home from work. Had it lost something in that rubbish heap? Or maybe found something?

He shrugged again, trying to put the matter out of his mind. If Pyro didn't want to talk about something, you'd get no answers, no matter how nicely you asked. Whatever it was hiding was going to stay hidden.

There was one problem that could be solved, however - it was Saturday morning, and in every merc's opinion that called for one very specific thing…a thing that was best served by one very specific Texan.

"Makin' bacon!" he called as he got up. "Which of you boys wants some?"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The bacon had gone down extremely well with the remaining mercs, and they had left the mess in high spirits to go about their business. Heavy was helping Medic in the lab, Soldier and Demo were off to test a new weapon they had found, and inevitably fight over it later, while Sniper had gone in search of some peace and quiet for a nap in the New Mexico sun, no doubt thinking of home.

Engineer wasted no time making his way across to the huge, barn-like structure across from the main building, which served as his workshop, living quarters, and a garage for his beloved truck. Like Medic and his lab, Engineer liked to be close to his work.

And, more importantly, he was keen to get started on today's projects.

The key turned in the lock and he stepped into the dark workshop, allowing himself to be enveloped the strong, familiar smell of machinery before reaching for the light switch. He had today's work all planned out, and was already itching to feel the weight of a wrench in his hand, to hear the sound of whirring gears and ringing metal. Nothing could possibly distract him today. Absolutely nothing.

His hopes were short-lived, however - as soon as he found the switch, something barrelled into him out of the gloom, knocking him back against the wall and onto the floor.

"What in the name of- …Pyro! How'd you get in here?"

As the lights flickered on, his assailant was revealed to be a very agitated Pyro, who was gripping his overalls and frantically gesturing for silence, holding a finger over its mask where its mouth would be.

"Ok, I get it, I'm bein' quiet," he hissed, trying not to sound too annoyed. "Why don't you go ahead and let me up, though?"

Pyro studied him for a second, then quickly scrambled off and stood up, holding out a hand to help its friend up. It took a step back as Engineer dusted himself off, and hung its head apologetically. It was fidgeting, like there was something uncomfortable in its suit.

"Apology accepted," Engineer sighed. So much for a distraction-free day. "Now what's got you so worked up, son?"

"Hrrph mmrp hhm mrph…"

"You got something to show me? Come on, then, let's see it."

Pyro shuffled nervously. "Mmrh phrp?"

"Angry? Why would I be angry with you?" Engineer tried to sound reassuring, but he was becoming increasingly concerned about what Pyro was about to show him. What could it be hiding that was so terrible?

It had turned to face the other way, and was rummaging in one of its suit pockets. Having found what it wanted, it turned slowly to face Engineer, holding its terrible secret shyly out for him to see.

"Oh my god…" Engineer couldn't believe his eyes - Pyro was holding a tiny, wriggling bundle of ginger fur that could only be…a kitten. Pyro had been hiding a kitten.

It all made sense now - this was what it had found in the rubbish last night, why it had been so jumpy this morning, the fur on its suit…and who knew Scout was allergic to cats?

He had to laugh. They were going to have a job and a half explaining this to the others…

-.-.-.-.-.-

Pyro's relief at Engineer's good-natured response had not lasted long. They had to face the facts, like it or not, and Texan had tried to be gentle as he explained that they couldn't keep the kitten a secret forever. They were going to have to decide what to do about it, and that was probably going to involve calling a group meeting.

Eventually, he had persuaded Pyro back into the main building, where they were now waiting nervously in the common room for the rest of the mercs to arrive.

"Vat is all zis about?" inquired Medic as he swept in, Heavy in tow. The Russian seemed to notice Pyro's agitation, and his brow creased in concern.

Soldier and Demo entered next, moving to sit at opposite ends of the room. Soldier was grinning inanely, while Demo seemed to be sulking. Evidently the fight over the new weapon was going in the American's favour.

Scout sauntered in soon after, casting a wary glance at Medic and sitting as far away as possible.

"There'd better be a good reason for this," grumbled Sniper as he trudged in, his nap rudely interrupted.

"For once, I agree with the bushman," said Spy as he uncloaked in the corner. "Is this everyone?"

"Thanks for turnin' up, fellas," said Engineer as he stood to address the group. "We'll try to make this quick. Pyro?"

All eyes were on Pyro as it stepped forward, reaching into its pocket once again and drawing out the contents for everyone to see. The kitten mewled pathetically as a stunned silence filled the room.

Engineer cleared his throat. "As you can all see…"

"A MILITARY BASE IS NO PLACE FOR A RABBIT!" exclaimed Soldier.

"That's a cat, ye bloody halfwit!"

"THERE'S A CAT AS WELL? COMRADES, WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!"

"I'm not sayin' I'm deathly allergic to those things, 'cuz I'm not," Scout sniffed loudly and glared at Medic, "but we can't keep a cat on the base. No way. Not because I might die, of course - there's a whole load of reasons why-"

"There are several allergy-repressing injections I could give you, Herr Scout," said Medic enthusiastically, "but I'm afraid you have a point. Ve can't keep it."

"I concur. Just think of the mess…and what the Administrator will do to us if she finds out." Spy said darkly.

Pyro looked distraught, holding the tiny bundle of fur close to its chest and looking pleadingly at Engineer, who sighed with resignation. For once, he didn't have a solution. There would certainly be complications if they kept it, but looking at the dejected way Pyro was standing…

"Those are some very reasonable points y'all are makin', but…where else is it gonna go? We need to figure out our options, so how about we just keep it until then? Pyro here will look after it - the rest of y'all don't have to worry. That sound about right?"

There was some muttering among the mercs, and sniffing from Scout.

"Besides," he added, "we already have pets on the base - ain't that right, Medic?"

"…very well," said Spy eventually, "but any resulting disasters of this decision are on your head."

"If zis gets into my lab, I can't promise I won't experiment on it," warned Medic. "And if it even thinks about chasing Archimedes…" his expression darkened, but then brightened again as he remembered something else. "But anyvay, it seems Herr Scout vill be needing my expertise if he is to survive ze weekend!"

Scout was long gone, however, not wanting to find out just how many injections Medic had been planning to give him.

"Keep it outta my van, ya hear?" said Sniper, eager to get back to his nap spot.

"I thought you were meant to be good with animals," mocked Spy.

"Yeah, I've killed lots of 'em." Sniper retorted, heading for the door. "'specially snakes like you."

The mercs left one by one, until it was just Pyro, Engineer and Heavy left in the common room. The Russian hung back, looking like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure how to phrase it.

He didn't need to say anything, though - Pyro seemed to understand immediately, and wandered over to Heavy, holding out the kitten for him to see. The big man looked down at the tiny animal with an uncharacteristically soft expression, then reached out a hand and stroked its head ever so gently with a finger. A huge grin spread across his face as it started to purr.

"It has name?" he asked.

"Mrmmph."

"…Sparky?" Engineer translated, smiling as Pyro nodded. "I like it. Now, if it's all the same to y'all, I have some engineering that needs doing. Machines don't build themselves just yet."

And with that, he set off towards his workshop once again, determined to get some work done before more drama ensued.

When he was gone, Heavy stopped stroking Sparky and looked at Pyro, expression becoming serious. "Do not tell the Doktor this, but…I would like for kitten to stay. It is most cheerful thing I see all week. Now I must go also - Sascha has scratch that I must tend to."

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><p><strong>AN: **yes, the mercs definitely need a cat. Just go with it.


	2. Sparky

**A/N: **I'm not 100% happy with how this chapter turned out, but oh well. The next one will hopefully be better. You may have also noticed a slight change in the description – this is because I've been doing some planning, and finally finished putting together the main plot! …well, the bare bones, at least. My point is, there's (probably) going to be a plot! Yay!

A huge thank you to anyone who followed/favourited/reviewed :)

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><p><em><strong>Siberia, 1927<strong>_

_The snow was thick on the ground that day, almost reaching over the top of the boots of the boy, no more than six years old, who stood alone in the middle of the small village. He stood still, head bowed, gazing at something that lay at his feet. _

_It was a bird, and it was dead. Its wings were spread, though, and it almost looked like it was frozen mid-flight, silhouetted against the vivid red sunset that blossomed out across a stark, white sky. _

_He liked animals – they were so beautifully simple, and yet he had caught glimpses of things in them he couldn't quite describe…intelligence, pride, but also humility. It made him sad that all these things could just disappear._

_This was not his first encounter with the death of an animal, but it was an image that would stay in his mind, long into adulthood. Even during his time as a mercenary in New Mexico, fighting and dying every day, Mikhail would remember this bird. It would remind him of the frailty of life, and of his chosen purpose in it: to protect._

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

**Teufort RED Base, present day**

It seemed to Pyro that it was not alone in its campaign to keep Sparky - Engineer and Heavy were on its side, but there were still six members of the team that needed convincing. That would be its mission today, it decided; it would convince the others, and its new friend would finally be allowed to stay.

Some would say that Pyro's first and only love was fire, but that wasn't strictly true. It did love fire; it loved the surge of intense, vibrantly coloured, musical euphoria that accompanied it, that took over and sent it into a psychedelic frenzy when mixed with adrenaline on the battlefield, but could also bring a calmer kind of elation in smaller doses.

Pyro was inarguably addicted to fire, but its affections didn't stop there – it also loved music, anything brightly coloured, and was utterly incapable of resisting the cuteness of small animals.

It looked down at the tiny kitten, who had been set loose inside the common room and was now bravely exploring it, occasionally stumbling over his own paws. He refused to let a lack of coordination stop his adventure, though, and scrambled stoically up again after every fall.

Pyro felt a warm rush of happiness as it watched. Life for the mercenaries could be heavy-going at times – they saw each other being blown apart on a daily basis, then got blown apart themselves, and while Respawn tried to smooth over the memories of each painful death, it could never completely erase all the brutal injuries they'd each sustained. Pyro was aware that it must be worse for the other mercs – they didn't all have some hallucinogenic condition to help them cope with the violence.

This week had been especially hard, and Pyro had felt everyone's misery on that walk home the evening before. It desperately wanted to do something to cheer them all up…and then Sparky had come into the picture. The kitten was worlds apart from the life the mercs were used to by now – he was so innocent and full of life, a reminder of everything that was good about the world, and Pyro was completely smitten with him.

He had scampered over to where Pyro was sitting cross-legged on the floor. Pyro stretched out a hand towards him, and he nuzzled its fingers affectionately. It was the most beautiful thing Pyro had ever seen. If only the rest of the mercs could see what it was seeing… they could all do with a break from the horrors they saw every day. Sparky was just what they needed.

The kitten was nudging more insistently at Pyro's hand now, and its mewling had taken on a discontented tone. Realisation brought Pyro back from its reverie: Sparky was hungry.

Pyro felt anxiety starting to rise. It had managed to smuggle some scraps up from supper last night, but the tiny animal had barely touched them (apparently cats didn't like Soldier's cooking – something they had in common with the Teufort mercs), and had eaten nothing since then. And he had been so weak when Pyro found him…who knew when his last meal had been?

Pyro loved cats, but it was beginning to sink in that it barely knew what to feed them, and that it may be hugely unequal to the task of taking care of one. It had hardly considered it when it found Sparky, alone and unloved in the rubbish.

There was nothing for it…Pyro stood and scooped Sparky up carefully. It was time to pay Teufort's resident animal expert a visit.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It didn't take long to locate Sniper – he had not returned to his morning nap, and could instead be found sitting in the doorway of his van with a brooding expression on his face and a photograph in his hand. He looked up as Pyro approached, quickly slipping the picture into his pocket.

"What d'ya want?" he asked gruffly.

Pyro wasn't put off by Sniper's seemingly unfriendly attitude. It knew the man well enough by now to know that he liked his space, and that his taciturn nature was the result of years of lone survival in the harsh Australian Outback. He wasn't being rude – he was simply being Sniper.

"I told ya, I'm not some kind of animal expert," he grumbled, upon catching sight of Sparky.

Pyro put on what it hoped was a pleading look. Sniper always denied it, but Pyro knew that his knowledge of animals was vast, and he would undoubtedly know how to help Sparky. It needed him to understand.

Eventually, Sniper gave in with a sigh. "Fine. What's yer problem?"

Pyro bounced in delight, and held Sparky out to Sniper, who took him from Pyro with surprising gentleness. He certainly knew what he was doing. Upon inspecting the kitten, though, Sniper suddenly seemed concerned.

"Hold on - when did 'e last eat?"

Pyro shrugged, and had to jump backwards as Sniper stood abruptly. It had to jog to keep up with his lengthy strides as he strode towards the base and into the mess.

Sniper handed Sparky back to Pyro and set to work, determined to save the tiny creature from starvation. Sparky certainly seemed to have an effect on the mercs, marvelled Pyro as it watched. Who knew that grown men, professional killers, could be so moved by small animals?

A frying pan of water was placed roughly at Pyro's feet. Sniper was muttering something about dehydration being the most dangerous thing out in the wild, while rummaging in the fridge.

Pyro placed Sparky down in front of the pan. He padded forwards and sniffed suspiciously at the water, before lapping at it thirstily.

Behind all the old sandwiches, cans of BONK! and bottles of Scrumpy that littered the fridge, Sniper had found a small helping of leftover chicken, which he was now cutting up into small pieces. He placed the prepared food down in front of Sparky, who looked up from the water with a large droplet hanging comically from his chin, and stepped back to watch with a satisfied smile as the kitten trotted over to eat.

Pyro sagged in relief. But soon enough, inquisitiveness took over, and it looked at Sniper curiously.

Sniper seemed to notice, and the smile faded from his face. "Me mum had a cat once," he said reluctantly. "Died when I was a kid. But when me dad got conscripted…y'know, in the war…"

Pyro was surprised. The Second World War was very rarely mentioned in the RED base by anyone other than Soldier, although most of the mercs were old enough to have been affected in some way by it. Pyro had always assumed that Sniper and his family had lived out of its reach in rural Australia, though, and this revelation about his father was unexpected.

Sniper had slipped a hand back into his pocket, and drawn out the photo he had been looking at earlier. Pyro leaned over to get a closer look – it was a black and white photo of a younger Mrs. Mundy, sitting with a tabby cat curled up in her lap and a smile on her face. It must have been taken before Sniper was born.

"It always followed her 'round, kept her company. Animals can be a lot of things…deadly, delicious…or the best friend you could ask for."

Pyro was oddly touched – this was a side of Sniper that was rarely seen by anyone, that stayed firmly locked away behind his cold professionalism, and Pyro felt privileged to have glimpsed it.

Sniper coughed awkwardly, stuffing the photo back into his pocket. "Anyway, all this cat business got me thinkin' I should write to me parents…" The gruffness was back in his voice, all traces of sentimentality gone.

A derisive laugh sounded from the corner of the room, stopping Sniper in his tracks as he started towards the door.

"_Mon dieu_, Pyro, it seems that the wild Bushman has been tamed…by a kitten!"

Sniper's fists clenched and he rounded on the source of the voice. Spy had uncloaked, and was looking decidedly smug after what he had just witnessed.

"Bloody spies!" Sniper spat.

"Perhaps we should keep it after all? We could unleash it on the BLU team, and never have to fight again!"

"Or ya could just take off yer balaclava – I bet they'd run screamin'."

"Resorting to childish insults? How bushman-like."

"Oh, I'M the childish one, am I?"

"You throw piss at people."

Pyro could see where this was going – these two were always at each other's throats, and far too often it resulted in violence, which the whole team could really do without this weekend. Their voices were beginning to rise, and it could see Sniper visibly resisting the urge to punch the annoying Frenchman. It had to intervene.

"MMRRRMPH!" it shouted across the room, waving its arms at the two bickering men, who momentarily stopped to look at Pyro.

Spy seemed to take the hint. "Anyway, while I would love to continue this…rather one-sided battle of wits, I have better things to do today. _Adieu_."

And with that, he disappeared from sight. Sniper hurled one final insult, then left the room, muttering furiously. Pyro felt relief – that had been close.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sparky seemed livelier after eating, and Pyro soon found itself thrown into a second trial of cat ownership: dealing with an energetic kitten who wanted to play. They were currently engaged in a game of pounce-on-Pyro's-hand, which Sparky seemed to be immensely enjoying as he bounded around, trying to catch the gloved hand that kept darting in and out of his reach. Pyro was revelling in the childish joy it felt – it hadn't done something quite like this for a long time, and the stress of the week was rapidly lifting from its mind.

They must have played for at least an hour before Pyro started to get tired. Sparky, however, showed no signs of flagging, leaping onto Pyro's hand again and again as it started to slow. Searching for ideas for something else to do, Pyro found itself wondering if you could take cats for walks.

Would it hurt to find out? Pyro withdrew its hand, ignoring Sparky's disappointed squeak, and stood up. It took a few experimental steps away from the kitten, and clapped with delight as he followed. It walked to the other side of the room, and Sparky trotted after it, rubbing against Pyro's ankles when he caught up.

Feeling more confident after what it had just seen, Pyro walked over to the door, opening it cautiously. Sparky stayed close as he sniffed the outdoor air, whiskers trembling excitedly, and then followed Pyro out into the great unknown.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

**Later that day**

Engineer was pleased – he hadn't expected today to be so quiet after the incident that morning, and it had ended up being quite productive. The air in the workshop was warm and stuffy, but I felt like a cool breeze as he pushed up the visor of his welding helmet, letting it bathe the hot skin of his face.

It was early evening, and the light leaking in through the windows was starting to soften. He had worked through lunch, but now a pang of hunger prompted him to wonder if the others had started making dinner yet. He couldn't remember whose turn it was to cook.

Absentmindedly, he made his way to the back of the workshop and nudged open the door to his living quarters. They weren't much to look at – a cluttered bookcase, a utilitarian bed and wardrobe, a desk strewn with blueprints and spare parts that had found their way through from next door, and a few framed memories scattered around the walls. The only things worth noting were the guitar propped against the wall, and the hard-hatted teddy bear lovingly placed on one of the less crammed shelves in the bookcase.

He didn't let a lot of people in here, but Engineer guessed that a few people would call it untidy. It wasn't – unpolished, yes, but unclean or unorganised? Never. He knew exactly where everything was, despite the haphazard arrangement.

He was becoming increasingly aware of the layer grime and sweat on his skin from his stint in the workshop – he should probably take a shower before heading over to the main building, even if it meant removing his bionic hand. He had taken off the glove that usually covered it to work, and it glinted dully at him as he began detaching it from his arm, grateful for the small bathroom that annexed his living space.

It wasn't vanity that made him cover it up – he was actually rather proud of the craftsmanship – it was just that it always seemed to get in the way of normal conversation. People tended to stare, or uncomfortably avert their eyes, or shoot pitying glances at him every so often.

Afterwards, he chose to leave his helmet and goggles as he crossed over to the main building – it was the weekend, and he liked having the opportunity to dress down from his uniform a bit.

Outside the common room, though, he was greeted by a rather strange sight – Soldier, Heavy, Sniper and Demo were peering through the partially open door, and gestured for him to be quiet as he approached.

"What's all this?" he whispered, hoping against hope that they hadn't caused some disaster that needed fixing.

They said nothing, but stepped aside, allowing him to take a look. He did so…and immediately understood the need for quiet. On one of the sofas, Pyro lay curled up with Sparky nestled in its arms. Judging from their breathing, they were both fast asleep.

"Kitten has worn leetle Pyro out with playing," murmured Heavy.

Engineer couldn't help smiling – a peaceful sight such as this was a rare moment for the mercs. They all turned away from it, however, as they heard someone else approaching.

"Yo, guys, who's cookin' tonight? …And whatcha all standin' around there for?"

"Quiet, Private!" hissed Soldier. "We are being stealthy!"

"Stealthy, huh? Who a-AARGH!"

All of them jumped in shock as Scout went rigid, convulsed, and then collapsed, leaving Medic standing behind him with an empty syringe and a satisfied grin. It had been an ambush almost worthy of Spy – nobody had seen him approach.

"Excellent! I thought I vould never catch him!"

"Uh…doctor, what did you just inject Scout with?" asked Engineer. He didn't really want to know, but someone had to ask.

Medic held up the syringe. "Zhis? Oh, mostly sedative. I vant to be vell out of the way by ze time he vakes up!"

"…And the rest?"

"An allergy-repressant," Medic beamed. "My own formula! Cats shouldn't be a problem for him from now on."

Engineer grinned. "Well, now we have no excuse for getting' rid of our new friend!"

There was an awkward silence.

The grin faded with a sigh. "Y'all know we have to discuss it at some point…might as well be now. So who votes we keep it?"

More silence, interspersed with a few tentative glances between the mercs. No one wanted to risk their manliness by being the first to say that in one short day they had been won over by the kitten, and were secretly hoping it was going to stay. They were mercenaries, and such a display of softness would be unprofessional, not to mention embarrassing.

Engineer could see exactly what was going on here. He was going to have to decide this himself. "Fellas, I know nobody wants to admit it…but I think we're all in agreement here, so I'll say it for ya: we're keepin' him. I mean, just look at the effect he's already had – Pyro hasn't started a single fire this weekend!"

There was an unspoken sense of relief passed between them, and they all tried to nod in agreement without looking too pleased, before making excuses and hurrying off, never to speak of this again.

Spy lingered, though, having materialised at some point during the conversation. He was looking at Engineer doubtfully.

"Don't worry," Engineer said reassuringly, "let me handle Her."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

**TF Industries Headquarters, that evening**

ALERT: INCOMING CALL FROM RED HEADQUARTERS

The Administrator took a long drag on her cigarette before prodding the button disdainfully to accept the call. She would have to berate them on their shameful performance that week, just as she had praised the BLU's for their slightly more satisfactory one. Keeping up the lie that she worked for each team exclusively could be tedious at times.

She scowled as an image of the RED Engineer appeared. Without his hat and goggles, he looked more like a kindly father than a hired killer. She disapproved immensely.

"What do you want?" she sneered. "Don't tell me you've burned down your base – you've already met this week's quota for embarrassing yourselves."

"If you look behind me you can see the base is just fine, Ma'am."

The corners of her lips were creeping slowly downwards with every word. "Did you call just to make stupid remarks, Conagher? Or is there something you wish to tell me?"

"No, actually, there's something I'd like to discuss with you. You see, one of our team found a cat the other day…"

"I don't care about your team's pets, Conagher – if I did, I would have had your Medic's ridiculous flock of doves exterminated long ago. Filthy things."

"I see, Ma'am. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Just see that you all improve upon your pitiful performances this week."

Not wanting to hear any more, she cut the feed, and sat for a moment to watch the static that filled the screen. _God help those idiot mercenaries and their absurd antics…_

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** And that concludes this particular story arc! That took way longer to write than I expected. Sorry about the random bit at the beginning – it was meant to be in the first chapter but I took it out and forgot to put it back. And sorry if it seems a little rushed at the end.

If anyone has any suggestions for anything else they'd like to see, or just likes/dislikes what I've done so far, please let me know in a review! :)

(seriously, I'd really appreciate it!)


	3. Too Many Cooks

**A/N:** Sorry this took so long! I know this chapter is a little weak, but I have big plans for the next one – I promise it'll actually be better this time! There might even be some kind of plot…

Thanks for all the lovely reviews, as always :)

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

**Teufort RED Base, Wednesday afternoon**

Morale had really picked up in the RED team in the last few weeks, and they had gained back most of the ground they had previously lost to the BLU's, returning the Gravel War to its eternally fluctuating stalemate.

Sparky had already begun to grow at an alarming rate, and was starting to compete with the mini-sentries in Engineer's workshop to keep the rodent population down. Medic swore that he hadn't been slipping any kind of growth stimulant into his food, although Pyro still watched very closely whenever the cat was eating. He was certainly keeping Pyro busy – it seemed happier, though, and hadn't come close to burning down the base in a while, which made a nice change.

This Wednesday afternoon was nothing out of the ordinary – the team had returned from their forward operating base at Dustbowl after a routine, 9:00-5:00 day of bloodshed and chaos, with the intent of spending the rest of the day just milling about peacefully. There had been celebration after the first few victories, but now they were back into the usual mix of wins and losses, and after each day they were content just to sit and relax.

Injuries had been seen to, gore had been cleaned from weapons and uniform, and now the mercs were sitting back to enjoy the peaceful atmosphere in the common room. Medic was reading a book he had borrowed from Heavy, while Heavy had been roped into a game of chess with Scout. Neither of them seemed to know the rules, and some questionable moves were being made by both parties, but at least Scout was sitting down for once.

"Hey! Ya can't move that far in one go!"

"Da. And your pieces can't have machine guns."

"Oh yeah they can."

"Nyet, they can't."

"But that's no fun…you're still outnumbered, though!"

"So it is fair that I have tank."

Engineer had brought his guitar in, and was making his way softly through one of his laid-back blues progressions. Pyro sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him, swaying dreamily and flicking a lighter in time to the melody. Sparky had abandoned it to lie sprawled along the windowsill, soaking up the afternoon sun.

Sniper was following suit, collapsed across a sofa with one leg awkwardly hanging over the arm and the other trailing on the floor, his hat drawn down over his face. Even Spy had deigned to join them, and was quietly surveying them over the top of his 'Dapper Cadaver' magazine, a cigarette hanging lazily from his mouth. He never seemed to truly relax and switch off, unlike the rest of the team.

And so that was how Demoman found them as he finally staggered into the room. He had something important to tell them, but he had needed to take care of Soldier first.

"LADS, WE HAVE AN EMERGENCY!"

All eyes fell on him at once. Engineer let his guitar fade into silence, Scout and Heavy stopped their game of nuclear chess, and Sniper tried to get up from the floor with dignity, as if he had dropped off the edge of the sofa on purpose, and not because the sudden noise had surprised him.

"Zhat poor liver of yours is always having an emergency," commented Medic.

"Nay, this is important! Ye don't know what today is?"

"Wednesday. Today is Wednesday." Spy was in no mood for Demoman's drunken nonsense.

"Aye, but it's an important Wednesday –found out just now!" He brandished a letter at them, scrunched up as if it had just been pulled out of the bin. It was addressed to Soldier, and covered in curly handwriting that was more elaborate than legible.

_Dear Soldier,_

_I know I said I wasn't speaking to you, but it's that time again…our rent is due, and I'm reminded once again what a truly great roommate you are, and not just because of that nice mercenary salary of yours. Or how my money-making spells never seem to work. You've probably forgotten, but I even remembered that it's your birthday on Wednesday, because I am also a great roommate, albeit one who could do with a little favour right now. Happy birthday. Please call me._

_Yours truly,_

_Merasmus_

"It's Sol's birthday!" He said. Blank faces looked back at him.

"And why is this an emergency?" enquired Spy. Birthday celebrations had never really been important to the mercs. Hardly any of them even acknowledged their birthdays to each other, apart from Scout, who made sure everyone in the Badlands knew. Most of them felt that they'd had far too many birthdays already.

"Well…don't ye think we should do somethin' fer him? Let's see…what does he like…"

"Fighting?"

"America?"

"Heads?"

Demoman refused to be put off by the suggestions coming from all corners of the room. "He's a good man, our Sol…there must be just a wee something we can do t'show a little appreciation…"

He would have suggested cracking open all the alcohol they could get their hands on, but getting the whole team drunk on a weeknight wasn't a great idea – they weren't all as practised at that as he was. He wouldn't want to be the one explaining it to the Administrator why they were all too hung-over to fight the next morning.

Pyro raised its hand, and mumbled something to Engineer.

"Pyro says he might like a cake," he translated.

"Brilliant!" Demo grinned. It was simple, non-violent, and Soldier was bound to like it. Who didn't like cake? Nothing could possibly go wrong with this plan. "So…uh…who actually knows how to make one?"

Cooking abilities varied quite a lot within the small group, leading to an interesting variety of evening meals, which they all took it in turns to prepare. But who could be trusted with this vitally important mission?

The worst cook out of all of them was probably Soldier, who had been known to add mud, bullets, and once even some sort of dead rodent to the food (if you could call it that) to remind him of his time in the trenches. But he wasn't an option, thank goodness. The next worst was Demoman himself, who always ended up adding more alcohol than food to his dishes, followed by Sniper, who could survive on just about anything in the outback but hadn't quite mastered indoor cooking yet. Heavy was not much better, having been raised on a diet of mostly bear meat and later progressing onto a diet of mostly sandwiches, which had not made a discerning chef out of him. He had more or less perfected the art of sandwich-making, but his skills stopped there.

Those four were the worst cooks on the base, but beyond that everyone else had some level of competence, even if their meals didn't always reflect it…Pyro, for instance, loved to cook – it loved it so much, though, that it didn't always want to stop when the food was ready, or even when it turned black and started to smoke, being too busy staring into the flames at the back of the oven. What they did sometimes manage to salvage was actually not bad, though. Scout would have been a surprisingly good cook as well if he wasn't so desperate to cover it up to save his manliness, or as impatient and easily distracted, which often resulted in overcooked, undercooked or deliberately sabotaged meals.

Medic was a little more competent in the kitchen, but the team were always wary of his meals, mostly because of that time he'd slipped an experimental new invention of his into the food and failed to mention the hallucinogenic side effects. Spy would have been a talented chef outside of Teufort, and had an uncanny knack for acquiring ingredients, but his repertoire of French specialities was wasted on the rest of the team, who found his upmarket cuisine to be too much for their simple palates. Engineer was no artist with food, and his meals tended to be simple but hearty, making him the most reliable cook among them, although not the most exciting.

The mercs were all looking around at each other, trying to decide who they would trust most with the task, and getting nowhere. Pyro would burn it, Spy would overdo it, Demo would drown it, Medic would turn it into an experiment, Scout would refuse to even attempt it, Engineer would make something overwhelmingly mediocre, and Sniper and Heavy would have no idea where to start…

An idea was coming to Demo, and he didn't like it one bit. They couldn't trust anyone on their own, but together, maybe they could come up with something edible, at least…just like on the battlefield, they were going to have to work as a team.

"It seems that we are beaten." Spy spoke before he had finished thinking. "What a shame."

"Not quite!" he countered, "not if we work together!"

"Ridiculous! Have you ever heard the phrase 'too many cooks spoil the broth'?" Spy scoffed, his eyebrows almost disappearing up into his balaclava. "I admit it doesn't quite apply here…a dozen cuisine-illiterate mercenaries in a kitchen together would do more damage than merely spoiling the food…"

"Then why don't ye just do it yerself?"

"Because I don't see the point of this."

"Aw, come on, ye miserable old sod! Would it be so hard t'do somethin' nice fer someone? Just this once?"

"Yeah, you heard him!" Scout joined in, upon seeing Spy's disgruntled look. "Is cookin' too much for ya?"

"Certainly not. I could make a better cake than you any day."

"Oh yeah? It's on, Crouton! You'll never beat my Ma's recipe!" He clamped his mouth shut, realising too late what he'd said. Now he had no excuse not to take a lead in this little enterprise. Worse – he'd gone and _taken_ the lead. "…aw, crap." His manliness was going to suffer.

Spy's lips curled into a smug smile. "Is that so? Well, this I would love to see."

"Great, that's a start!" Demoman cheered. "How about the rest of you?"

Pyro clapped its hands excitedly, and Engineer nodded in agreement. "It's a nice gesture…and someone's gotta supervise. I'm in."

"Doktor says he is not too busy. I will also help," said Heavy, ignoring Medic's attempts to protest.

Sniper was not about to be outdone by the rest of the team, especially Spy, so he grudgingly nodded his assent as well.

Demoman beamed. He honestly hadn't thought they would all agree to this. "Cheers, lads! I'll take care of Sol – this has to be a surprise. Engie, can I leave you in charge?" Engineer was the de facto leader of the team, the voice of reason that everyone listened to. If anyone could steer this project in the vague direction of success, it was him.

"Sure thing," he said cheerfully. "Give us about an hour. Scout, you go find that recipe. Spy, I take it you can rustle up some ingredients? Heavy, keep an eye on Medic. Pyro, how'd you like to decorate when it's done?"

Demoman left Engineer to delegate jobs to the others, and left to take care of his own. This was either going to be a brilliant surprise…or a very messy disaster.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Demoman eventually found Soldier in his bunker. Like Sniper and Engineer, Soldier had chosen to live outside the main base, insisting that he was a real soldier in a real war, and would not sleep indoors like a pampered civilian. He had started by digging himself a trench, and gradually built himself a shelter out of sandbags, wood, and whatever else he could find.

Over time, like the rest of the base, it had grown and evolved to suit the needs of its inhabitants. The base had started out as a spartan, lifeless building with only the bare essentials – an identical bedroom for each mercenary, bathrooms, basic cooking facilities, and enough storage for their weapons and belongings. Now, it was barely recognisable – it had become an extensive amalgamation of nine vastly different personalities, largely through a series of mysterious structural renovations that took place while they were out fighting. It was a testament to the Administrator's considerable influence and resources.

Soldier's trench had ultimately become a bomb-proof bunker, which he was very pleased with – it had plenty of room outside for his head collection, was conveniently close to the weapon storage room in case of an attack, capable of withstanding substantial amounts of firepower (Soldier had tested this himself), and yet still ramshackle enough to remind him of his trench in World War Two.

And then, of course, there was the 'Alarm-O-Tron 5000', an unconventional piece of technology that Soldier had designed and asked the Administrator for himself. She had most likely obliged just to shut him up. _'We need to be prepared for every possible situation! Expect the unexpected!'_ he had told them. The rest of the team, however, weren't too sure how likely they were to find Dracula on the base, or why they needed to know who was on the toilet, or even if it worked. They had decided against putting it in the main Control Room, but Soldier insisted that it might save their lives one day, so they let him have his fun with it.

"Sol? You in there, laddie?" Demoman knocked on the heavily bolted door. It hadn't been too difficult to keep Soldier busy for his little announcement – one mention of BLU's being sighted on the perimeter, and Soldier was off like a territorial rocket to show them whose base this was. It worked every time.

The door flew open. "It's ok, everybody, the BLU's have fallen back!" Soldier announced, looking pleased with himself.

"You showed 'em!" Demoman cheered. "Now, I thought I'd come an' have a wee drink with ye to celebrate!" he held up the crate of alcohol he'd brought with him.

Soldier grinned and let him inside. Demoman was halfway through the door when Soldier's fist caught him in the jaw, sending him staggering sideways.

"OW! What the bloody 'ell was that for yer crazy bastard?"

"You can never be too careful with that BLU Spy around…"

Demo set the crate down on the table, rubbed his jaw and glared at his friend. "Fair point…but warn me next time."

Soldier was about to reply when Demo's fist came swinging into his jaw.

He glowered under his helmet as he recovered, but soon enough a grin erupted across his face and both men laughed, clapping each other on the shoulder.

Their friendship was an unusual one – they were two bold personalities with a mutual fondness for explosives, and conflict had seemed likely at first, but they had each found a kindred spirit in the other. The rest of the team like to joke that they were two children that had never grown up, and maybe in a way they were right.

Even during his time in Crypt Grammar School for Orphans, Demoman's upbringing hadn't left much time for playing with other children, between his fascination with explosives and his mother's constant hassling to live up to his father's example and get more jobs. Soldier had never said much about his own childhood but Demo suspected that he wasn't so different.

There was rarely a dull moment when they were together, and although they could get themselves into all sorts of scrapes, they knew they wouldn't give up each other's company for the world.

"So, how about that drink?" Demo prompted. He should have no trouble keeping his friend busy until the surprise was ready.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Things were going well so far in the kitchen, much to Engineer's relief. It had taken a lot of persuasion, but Scout finally went off to phone his mother, and returned with her cake recipe scrawled on a piece of paper. He invested a lot of time and energy into keeping his phone calls a secret – how would he make fun of Sniper, Heavy and Demoman for being 'mommy's boys' if they knew that he kept in touch with his mother too? Thankfully for him, Engineer had kept them all busy in the kitchen, which had stopped them listening in this time.

"Here ya go…I've done my bit, can I go now?" he pleaded, handing the recipe to Engineer.

"You're not goin' anywhere, young'un," said Engineer sternly. "We might need your help."

"Aw, c'mon, I ain't built for the kitchen, ya know that!"

Engineer ignored him, handing the recipe to Spy. "Spy, you're up – we missin' anything?"

The fridge and cupboards were frequently restocked while they were out fighting, and usually had all the basic ingredients they needed for cooking, and occasionally a few specially requested items.

Spy scanned through the list of ingredients. "Flour…butter…sugar…eggs…we should have all of these, but I doubt anyone has requested vanilla essence recently."

"That don't sound important – can we carry on without it?" suggested Sniper.

"Certainly not, you uncultured bushman!" said Spy incredulously. "This is what brings out the flavour! Do you want this cake to be a bland disaster?"

Scout sniggered, and Engineer had to cut in before their first argument broke out. "Spy, can you get some in the next hour? Cuz' if not, we'll just have to go without."

"Of course I can." He said curtly, then spun around and walked out of the room.

They all watched him go, then looked back to Engineer for instructions. "Well, don't you lot just stand there! We should get started on the rest!"

And so they did. Scout was sent on fetch missions around the kitchen, and Medic was put in charge of measuring out the ingredients with surgical precision, looking very indignant about how closely they were all watching for mysterious additions. When he was finished, Pyro was let loose with a whisk to mix everything together, although Sniper had to take over when Pyro got a bit too excited.

There casualty rate was fairly low so far – only two dropped eggs, one major flour spillage, a smashed bowl, and the occasional bout of frustration. Engineer was amazed that nobody was injured.

Soon enough, the mix was ready except for the one missing ingredient. That was when Spy materialised, holding it out triumphantly. Nobody bothered to ask how on earth he had got hold of a bottle of vanilla essence in the middle of a desert – they knew they'd get no answer.

"…Shall we?" he asked, gesturing at the oven. The mix was finally complete, vanilla essence and all, and so they poured it into the cake tin that Heavy had been greasing – _like oiling a gun, but with butter,_ he had said – and slid it carefully into the oven.

"They say a watched pot never boils…" said Engineer as they all crowded around the oven, watching anxiously. It had all gone surprisingly well so far, and the last thing they wanted was to burn it after all their hard work. "We should get started on the washing up," he said, prompting a groan from everyone except Pyro, who only had eyes for the oven now.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The sound of raucous laughter filled Soldier's bunker as Demoman shared another of his ghost stories, and the two friends enjoyed their drinks and each other's company. Demoman was starting to wonder if the others were ready yet – it had been just over an hour since he'd left them. Maybe now would be a good time to bring Soldier over, now that there was a break in the conversation?

He didn't have to make the decision, though – the laughter abruptly stopped as the Alarm-O-Tron beeped and a few of the signs started to light up. Soldier rushed over to it, trying to decipher what it was on about.

Demoman rolled his eye. This wouldn't be the first time the Alarm-O-Tron had given a false alarm, sending Soldier whirring into action, even in the middle of the night.

"Sol, it's probably nothin'…"

"That's what the BLU's want you to think! Let's see…RED Soldier…that's me…is a woman? I AM NOT! IT'S THE BLU'S, THEY'RE TAMPERING WITH MY ALARM-O-TRON! I WILL NOT ALLOW THIS!"

Demoman knew there was no stopping Soldier now – he was on his way to the door, shotgun in hand, telling any listening BLU's in great detail where they could put their pathetic attempts to insult him. He should probably just let him go.

_But what about the surprise? _He realised with a jolt of alarm. He was going to burst in on them! He jumped up and ran after Soldier, but he was already too late. He could only watch in horror as Soldier disappeared inside the main base.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

_**Poland, 1940**_

_A lone soldier huddled in a well of mud, the rain pelting down on him like bullets. Real bullets frequently pelted down as well, and he had been hit by several. There was pain at first, but after he had staunched the flow of blood and dressed his wounds as best he could, there was a kind of twisted joy as well. This was war. This was his purpose._

_He had fought long and hard to get here, dug this trench himself, and defended it single-handedly against several waves of Nazis, seeking revenge for the ones he had hunted and killed. They all thought they could kill him – he was just one man, after all – and they all died. They were no match for the soldier's trusty rocket launcher._

_Not often did the soldier dwell on things, such as how he had come to be here, or question what he was doing. His mission fulfilled him. Even the term 'mental asylum' had little meaning now – it might have meant something before, but he was a soldier now, a patriot, a hero, and the past did not exist. He barely even remembered his own name. _

_He was utterly alone out here, and he knew he would likely die that way, but it would be a hero's death. He was the Jane Doe, the missing soldier, and one day America would thank him for what he had done._

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Soldier stormed through the door, ready to take on whatever was waiting for him on the other side. He could take on the whole BLU team if he had to.

There were no BLU's, however – instead, he collided with the RED Engineer, who was coming in the opposite direction.

"Soldier! I was just lookin' for ya!" he said cheerfully.

"ENGINEER, THERE IS AN EMERGENCY! THERE ARE BLU'S IN THE BASE, TAMPERING WITH OUR EQUIPMENT!"

"BLU's? Oh…uh, yeah, we just took care of some BLU's!" said Scout as he popped up behind Engineer.

"…Are you sure?" asked Soldier suspiciously. Had he missed the fight?

"Absolutely." Engineer agreed. "But don't worry, we've got somethin' else to show you…" he beckoned for the disappointed Soldier to follow him as he headed into the mess.

He obliged. Inside the mess, Heavy, Medic, Sniper, Spy and Pyro were standing around one of the tables, blocking it from view. His grip on his shotgun tightened – had he just walked into a trap set up by the BLU's?

Demoman came in behind him, panting a bit. Everyone turned to look at him, moving away from the table, revealing a mysterious object placed right in the centre.

It was…a cake. A slightly lopsided cake, carefully decorated to look like the American flag, with a single candle flickering merrily on top. He lowered his gun, confused.

"Happy birthday, Sol!" Demoman announced, and everyone started to clap.

Then it dawned on Soldier. This wasn't a trap, or a battle strategy…it was his comrades – his friends – trying to tell him that they cared. This wasn't like Merasmus, who only liked him when there was money involved, or…well, anyone else he remembered knowing, really. They cared that it was his birthday, and they cared about _him_.

"…Sol? You ok, laddie?" Demoman sounded concerned, making Soldier embarrassingly aware of his damp eyes, hidden by his helmet. This was not manly at all. He stood upright, pulling himself together – what should he say to them?

"Friends, Americans, countrymen…" he began, unsure of where this was going. Which of his pre-battle speeches seemed the most appropriate?

Finally, he gave up, and turned to face Demoman. This had probably been his idea. His friend looked confused as Soldier stepped forward, and tried to give him the manliest, least soppy hug he could muster.

"…we can eat cake now?" Heavy tried to break the awkward silence that followed.

"Absolutely!" Soldier grinned. "ATTACK!"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

**A/N:** A whole story arc in one chapter! Yay! Please let me know what you think :)


	4. Mission Improbable

**A/N: **This next story arc is probably going to be a little longer than the previous two, and have more of a plot, but this means it might take a bit longer to write (also because I think my last chapter was a bit rushed and the quality suffered because of it), so apologies in advance for any slowness. On the other hand, it centres around the double act you've all been waiting for…enjoy! :D

Thank you so much to **Platitude** for your review – that made me smile a lot :)

* * *

><p><strong>TF Industries Headquarters, Friday evening<strong>

The weekends could be trying times for the Administrator – she hadn't wanted to implement weekend ceasefires originally, but Miss Pauling had voiced some concern about the mercenaries' psychological well-being, and had eventually persuaded her to put them in place on the grounds of keeping them in peak fighting condition. They would last longer that way, she said. She had a point, of course – she wouldn't be in this job if she wasn't so pragmatic – but the Administrator did sometimes wonder if her assistant was a bit too caring. She didn't approve of such traits.

None of the mercs were entirely sane to start with, and respawn had halted physical ageing, but a break from the fighting could help their focus, and make the stalemate more stable. It seemed to have worked, so far.

It did not, however, help the Administrator. Anyone would have thought that covertly controlling most of the world in two carefully balanced halves would keep her busy - there was always administration work to be done, of course, but Miss Pauling was quite capable of handling the bulk of that. Without the gravel war playing out on multiple screens in front of her, however, and the task of operating her complex communications equipment, the Administrator found herself in a rather peculiar situation: she was bored.

At the end of that day's battle, she had reluctantly turned off the video feed, resigning herself to a dull two days with only cigarettes to keep her occupied. She considered tuning in to some of the surveillance feeds she had in the main RED and BLU bases, but the sight of the mercenaries relaxing and socialising repulsed her, so she let Miss Pauling handle the chore of keeping an eye on them. An unpleasant job, but it had to be done - she didn't want a repeat of what the last teams had done.

She was abruptly brought back from her thoughts by in insistent beeping on the control panel in front of her – an incoming call, from none other than Redmond Mann. What did he want this time? She braced herself for more nagging and complaints about the stalemate. She was amazed that he still hadn't worked out what was really going on, even after the decades he'd had to think about it.

"Administrator? Is this damn thing on?"

"Yes, Redmond?"

"Ah! Good. Now listen, I have an unusual problem - unusual because, for once, my brother doesn't seem to be the cause!"

"...And?" the Administrator kept her expression carefully blank. The Mann brothers tried her patience in ways she hadn't thought possible, but she had to tread carefully around them, or her life's work would be undone in a second, and all hell would break loose. They were both in charge of global superpowers, after all, albeit only in name. If only they knew who was really holding all the cards…

"I need someone eliminated - a very dangerous individual who may pose a threat to my company."

"I see. And how do you want this done, exactly?"

"I don't care - I just want him dead! Send the mercenaries for all I care. It's about time they actually did something worth the money I pay them, if they're not going to drive my brother's men off my land. Your assistant should have the details."

And with that, he hung up, leaving the Administrator seething quietly. God, that man was insufferable!

True to his word, though, Miss Pauling did seem to have the details, as she chose that moment to scurry into the room clutching a file to her chest. The Administrator didn't turn to face her as she entered.

"Pauling. I trust this is about Redmond's little assassination plot?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I have all the information on the target right here. This is going to require stealth and precision, though, and-"

"Good. I think we have just the two men for the job." She tapped a few commands into her control panel, and the mugshots of two RED mercenaries flickered up onto one of the screens that lined the walls.

"...those two, Ma'am? Are you sure?"

"Is there a problem, Pauling?" She would have sent Miss Pauling – she was more than capable of handling herself in the field, and would probably do a cleaner job than the mercenaries – but she was needed here. This plan would have to do.

"No, no, it's just that...well, uh...the two of them don't really seem to…" the girl faltered under the Administrator's withering gaze. "There's no problem. I'll call them now."

She hurried off to do her duty. Miss Pauling was every bit as hardworking as her job required, and seemed to show few signs of loneliness or stress, unlike her predecessor. The Administrator couldn't understand why all her previous assistants had crumbled. Was this job really too much to ask? She'd had to kill each of them and search for a replacement herself, which irked her immensely.

That was when she had had the idea of Miss Pauling, and she had definitely turned out to be a worthwhile investment. Not that there had ever been any doubt - the Administrator would expect no less from her own slightly modified clone, after all.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

**Teufort RED Mercenary Base**

"But Dad- Dad, just listen to me-"

"I've heard enough. Call me again when you have a proper job."

"At least let me speak to mum!"

There was a click as the line was disconnected from the other end. Sniper slammed the phone down, his hand shaking, hoping against hope that nobody had overheard that conversation.

He would have driven out to the remote pay phone he often used, but he knew he would lose his nerve and turn back, so the phone in the aptly named 'phone room' in the base (which was more of a cupboard really, hidden away behind the storage room) had had to do.

He had been building himself up to make this phone call for days. It wasn't a secret that Sniper didn't like calling his parents – he loved them, truly he did, and he wanted to know that they were ok...it was just that every call left him feeling like his stomach had been torn out, leaving behind a tangled mass of emotion twisting in his gut.

Sniper was a fairly atypical Australian, with his lanky frame, reserved attitude, and lack of interest in fist-fighting, but his parents weren't exactly your average Australians either – they weren't as inclined towards violence as their fellow countrymen, hence their disapproval for his job. He put it down to their isolation from the rest of society, or perhaps it was his dad's experience in the War? Sniper had been young at the time, and his dad had never really talked about it, but there had certainly been something out of place when he came home afterwards.

He took a moment to compose himself, hunched over the phone. He was a professional assassin – feelings had no place in his line of work. They were a dangerous distraction. So instead of working through all the frustration, anger, and guilt, he did what he'd always done with his emotions: he buried them. At the back of his mind, as far down as they would go, where he could deny their very existence.

_Be polite. Be efficient. Have a plan to kill everyone you meet. _He repeated his simple mantra to himself until the tightness in his throat eased. He refused to let the others see him like this – he was a professional, a stone-cold killer, and speaking to his parents on the phone did _not_ bring him dangerously close to tears. Nothing could shake him, least of all a bloody phone call.

When he was calm and collected once again, he turned to make the journey through the base back to his van, wanting to spend a little time in his own company. Shortly after he opened the door though, his sharply trained eyes picked up a faint shimmer of red, right in the corner of his vision. The acrid smell of cigarettes reached his nose as he stepped outside, and his fists clenched instinctively.

"Sniper! Fancy seeing you here," Spy said as he uncloaked, feigning surprise.

"What d'ya want, Spook?" Sniper growled. His nerves were frayed, and the last thing he wanted was to deal with this slimy Frenchman. They had been getting to each other more than usual today, on and off the battlefield.

"Oh, nothing, _mon ami_. Just passing through."

"Then pass on through an' leave me alone."

"But now I'm here," Spy continued as if he hadn't heard, "I might as well ask…how are your parents these days?"

One glimpse of the glint in Spy's eye, and Sniper knew exactly what he had been doing while he was on the phone. He couldn't keep the heat from rushing into his face as he took a step towards him.

"You should know, yer filthy, eavesdroppin' rat…"

Spy, undaunted, looked up at the taller man with an innocent expression. He was not short by most standards, standing at an inch less than six feet, but Sniper was taller, if only by a couple of inches, and taking full advantage of the fact as he towered threateningly over Spy.

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Oh, I think ya do."

Spy's eyes widened in mock realisation. "Those were your parents on the phone? You sounded as if you were talking to whatever insurance company was stupid enough to insure that ridiculous van of yours, begging them to-"

"THAT'S IT, YA BLOODY BOGAN!"

Sniper tried to be polite, he really did – for his mother, more than anything else, so that she could at least try to say she had raised him right, and her teachings hadn't gone completely to waste. And on top of that, he was also a professional, and did his best to ignore his feelings…but, unfortunately, he had inherited something of his father's short temper. This was all too apparent as he blindly swung a fist at Spy, hitting him squarely in the side of the face.

Spy staggered, clutching his face, but recovered just in time to duck under the next swing, and shoot back with sharp blow of his own, catching Sniper in the ribs. "Getting in touch with your Australian roots, I see!" he snarled, venom in his voice. "Like the runt of a litter, trying to be tough like the others!"

This Frenchman was going to die. _Painfully_. Sniper knew Spy loved poking him for reactions, and this was exactly what he wanted, but something inside him had snapped. Spy wasn't quick enough to dodge the next punch, fuelled by rage and given speed by Sniper's honed reflexes, and he let loose a stream of French curse words as he was sent reeling backwards.

"YER GONNA REGRET THAT, YA WANKER!"

He lunged for Spy once again, but he had underestimated the time it would take him to regain his footing. Spy had made a quick recovery, and stepped easily to the side. He swung an elbow into the back of Sniper's head as he went stumbling past, sending him crashing to the floor.

"Now, now, that wasn't polite. What would your mother say?"

Sniper sent a kick in Spy's direction, and managed to catch him in the knee, knocking his legs out from under him. He scrambled up and threw himself onto Spy, his fists raining down punches.

"DON'T YA EVER MENTION ME MUM AGAIN!"

Spy managed to get a hand free, though, and struck out, catching Sniper in the throat. Sniper's furious assault stopped for a second as he gagged, and Spy used the time to push him off and reverse their positions. Now Spy, who was normally cool as glass, impossible to provoke, was pummelling Sniper with an abandon not commonly seen in him.

"YOU FILTHY AUSTRALIAN PIG-DOG!"

"YER PRANCIN' POOFTAH!"

"YOU-"

"BOYS, THAT'S _ENOUGH_!"

They both froze as the new voice cut into the whirlwind of rage that had consumed them. Looking up, they saw Engineer standing in the doorway, looking down on them with an expression of cold fury, made more menacing by the fact he still had his hat and goggles on.

"I have half a mind to give you both the hidin' you deserve, right here, right now…but Miss Pauling called, and wants to speak to the both of ya. Privately. So you'd best come with me. Looks like you've finally taken things a step too far for me to handle."

They tried not to look at each other as they hauled themselves off the floor and trudged out of the room after Engineer like scolded children. They knew better than to argue with him – it took a lot to make Engineer angry, and although the thought of the amiable Texan giving anyone a physical beating would normally be laughable, this man looked like he meant it. Instead, they could only feel dread for what was about to happen. Could this be it for their careers at Teufort?

Engineer gave them one last warning glare as he closed the door of the control room behind them, leaving them alone with the main communications screen.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

**TF Industries Headquarters**

Miss Pauling waited nervously for Engineer to come back with Sniper and Spy. He had looked worried when she said she wanted to speak to them privately, which hadn't done anything to reassure her. It was part of her job to monitor the mercenaries and watch for unusual behaviour, and she knew that the Sniper and the Spy were not the best of friends. But surely it wasn't that bad…surely they could put aside any personal differences and work together for a short while? Yes, of course they could. It was all going to be fine.

The screen in front of her flickered into life, and the two mercenaries appeared. Her face fell as she saw them – they both looked dishevelled, even Spy, who was normally impeccably groomed, as if they had been fighting. Their faces were bruised and bloodied, and they each held themselves as if they were in some kind of pain.

"What happened to you two?" she demanded.

They glared at each other, confirming her worst fears. She sighed. Maybe this wasn't going to be so easy after all…but what choice was there?

"You could have picked a better time to try and kill each other. The Administrator has a job that needs doing – an assassination, to be specific."

"Wait, so we're not fired?"

"No, Sniper, you are not. Both of you are precision elimination experts with previous experience as assassins…"

"…and so you have called to decide which one of us to send?" Spy cut in.

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean? You can't send us both."

"Actually, Spy, I can. And that's exactly what the Administrator wants."

They both stood there for several seconds, staring blankly at the screen.

"Ridiculous!" Spy finally spluttered. "You can't seriously expect us to work together – that is impossible!"

"Improbable." Miss Pauling corrected. "I just need you to stop squabbling for as long as it takes to kill this person. Then you can punch each other all day long."

"Miss Pauling," Sniper said bluntly, "in all my career as a tracker, assassin, or whatever else yer wanna call me-"

"-Oh, I can think of plenty of-"

"-shut it, Frenchie. As I was sayin', I've learned one thing in particular: these jobs are meant ta be done _alone_. By _professionals_. No prancin' Frenchmen gettin' in the way and makin' a spectacle of themselves."

"I am afraid he has a point about working alone," Spy added, "but I have another: jobs like these require _finesse_. They cannot be done by some oafish kangaroo man that leaves a trail of piss jars and-"

"Yes, Spy, I get the picture. And I'm afraid you'll both have to put any objections directly to the Administrator – these are her orders, not mine. Something tells me she'll be disinclined to listen to either of you, though."

They were both silent.

"So, about the mission: communications may be intercepted, so I will meet you at a specified rendezvous point, and give the full briefing face to face. All you need to know for now is that you will need to change your uniform for something a bit more discreet, and bring all your usual gear. As for transport: Sniper, I understand you can provide that?"

"Me van? I'm not lettin' Spy in there!"

Spy snorted. "You think I want to go in that filthy piss box on wheels? With the equally filthy owner? Absolutely not."

"Gentlemen, these are your _orders_. Oh, and I'm sure you don't need reminding, but you'll be out of range of respawn, so you really do need to stop fighting each other and start watching each other's backs. Any questions?"

Both of them looked highly unsettled, but neither one of them spoke.

"Excellent. Get cleaned up and prepare to leave ASAP. Pauling out." She disconnected, and sat back with a long sigh. She had a very bad feeling about this.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Sniper and Spy time, finally! I'd be really grateful for any feedback – I really do care what you guys think, and if I could do anything at all to improve this! Also, my plans for the story definitely aren't set in stone, so any suggestions for things you'd like to see are very welcome :)


	5. An Unexpected Road Trip

**A/N:** this story now has over 1000 views! Yay! :D Thank you for all the continued support from those lovely people who leave reviews :)

* * *

><p>Engineer was waiting for Sniper and Spy just outside the control room, looking worried. Spy was still trying to process what had just happened, so it took him a minute to realise that Engineer probably still thought they were being fired for misconduct.<p>

"Well? What happened?" he asked impatiently.

Could they tell him what was actually happening? Miss Pauling hadn't said anything about keeping it a secret from their teammates…

"We're not fired. The Administrator has a job for us." He put in before Sniper could say anything.

"Thank goodness!" Engineer was visibly relieved, but then look of confusion crossed his face. "What kinda job?"

"We've gotta kill someone." Sniper got there first this time.

"Ain't that pretty much your job description already?"

"_Non_. This is different. The person in question is not a BLU, and will not be coming back. I would explain further, but we must leave post-haste."

Engineer only looked more puzzled, but he seemed to understand Spy's urgency. "You'd best get yourselves cleaned up then," he sighed as he started ushering them towards the infirmary.

Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time Sniper and Spy had turned up at the infirmary like this, and Medic's expression quickly turned to a mix of irritation and exasperation when he saw them.

"Again? Give me one good reason vhy I should vaste my time vith you two ridiculous _Kinder_."

If there was one person besides Engineer that the other mercenaries would rather not provoke, it was Medic. His wrath could make grown men tremble. They both opened their mouths to speak, not quite sure how they were going to dig themselves out of this, but Engineer came to the rescue.

"I know how tiresome this is, really, but Miss Pauling just got in touch. She has some kinda job for these two, and wants them cleaned up and ready to go, right about now."

Medic and Engineer exchanged a weary look, then Medic reluctantly let all three of them into the infirmary.

"Sit still, and do try not to kill each other," he instructed as he hefted the Medi-gun into position. "Zhis vill only take a few seconds."

"I don't suppose you could tell us what's goin' on, in the meantime?" asked Engineer.

"Yes," agreed Medic, "I vould also like to know. Vhat is so urgent that zhe Administrator has to risk sending you two out togezher?"

"She ain't told us much yet," Sniper began, "Only that we 'ave to kill this bloke, we can't be recognised as RED's, an' there won't be respawn. For us or the target."

"She suspects that communications are being intercepted, so we will be meeting Miss Pauling for the full briefing in person." Spy concluded.

Medic trained the Medi-gun on Sniper first, then Spy, listening with a thoughtful expression. "Are you sure zhis is a good idea?" he said finally.

"Nope," said Sniper.

"Absolutely not," agreed Spy.

"No respawn, you say? Vait here," said Medic as he finished healing them, before going off to rummage through various drawers at the back of his lab. When he came back, he was holding a small vial of a strangely pearlescent red liquid.

"I don't trust you two _dummköpfen _not to injure yourselves or each ozher, and I won't be zhere to put you back togezher. Zhis is the same formula the Medi-gun uses – it is more potent in liquid form, but much harder to produce, so use it carefully…and only if you _haff _to."

He handed the vial to Spy who slipped it carefully into his chest pocket.

"Now shoo, I haff better zhings to do!" he waved them out of the infirmary.

Engineer laughed once the door had been closed behind them. "I think that was Medic's way of sayin' 'take care of yourselves!'" his laughter died almost immediately. "In all seriousness, though…I'd listen to him if I were you. Believe it or not, most folk here would be upset if y'all got hurt, or worse…but let's not think about that." He clapped them both on the shoulder reassuringly. "Go on, do what you have to. And good luck."

He left them alone together, and they stood awkwardly for several moments before either of them spoke.

"Meet me outside the van in ten minutes?" Sniper suggested reluctantly.

Spy exhaled noisily. "I had hoped I would never be offered that particular invitation…but it seems today is not my lucky day. I will be there." He vanished.

"Don't spend too long on yer makeup," said Sniper as he stalked off.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The RED team stuck to their uniforms on most days, mostly because it was always on hand, very replaceable, and registered to respawn, eliminating the possibility of dying and waking up in the respawn room naked. Soldier had found this out the hard way – this addition to his 'Naked Tales of Valour' was not something the rest of the team were ever going to forget.

This meant that Sniper hadn't worn normal clothes for a while, and it took some digging around before he found something suitable. It was a crumpled set of clothes that he used to wear in the outback, mostly a neutral, earthy colour, and not hugely different to his RED uniform. It was more suited to hunting that blending in with normal society, but it would have to do. He gave it a quick sniff, shrugged, and put it on.

All their uniforms were fairly reminiscent of their usual dressing habits, another reminder of just how much information RED had about them and how closely they were being watched, that nobody ever really mentioned.

Almost as soon as his hat was back on his head, there was a knock at the door. He glanced at his watch – it hadn't even been ten minutes! He was having serious doubts about his ability to tolerate Spy for the next day or so. He _really_ hoped it wouldn't be more than a day…

He flung the door open and, sure enough, Spy was standing there. He had opted for a dark grey version of the suit he usually wore. At least, it looked like the same suit to Sniper, but no doubt it was vastly different in ways that only pooftah like Spy could point out. Did he ever wear anything other than suits? And then there was that ridiculous balaclava… so much for blending in.

"Is that thing welded to yer face?" asked Sniper as he stepped out of his van.

"Did that filth grow on you?" Spy retorted. "This isn't the outback."

"It ain't the Ritz either, wanker. Chuck yer kit in and let's go."

Spy wrinkled his nose as he peered into the murky interior of the van, tightening his grip on the sleek briefcase that held all his equipment. "I think not."

"Suit yerself." Sniper banged the door shut, locking it before walking round and climbing into the driver's seat. There had been a post-it note on his door after the conversation with Miss Pauling, another trace of RED's constant presence, giving the coordinates of the meeting place, which was just over an hour away according to his tattered road map of the Badlands.

Spy got in beside him, lowering himself gingerly onto the seat. "Are you sure this rust bucket will start?"

Sniper responded by turning on the engine. He never let Engineer touch his van, but he had picked up a few maintenance skills himself over the years – in his old life, he couldn't afford to be stranded in the middle of nowhere where a mechanic couldn't reach him, so he had learned to fix things himself.

Mostly, he kept the van in working condition by taking it for drives along the open roads in the wasteland around the base. He found it calming to be out in the open space with only himself for company…except this time, he was stuck with Spy. He had a feeling this drive wasn't going to be half as pleasant.

The first few minutes after leaving the base passed in uncomfortable silence. Sniper wasn't really one for music, and had torn out the van's radio in favour of extra storage space. In the absence of conversation, Sniper saw Spy opening his briefcase out of the corner of his eye, and pulling out some kind of folder.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Oh, just a little light reading. A comedy, to be precise…perhaps with an undertone of tragedy."

The folder was now fully out of the briefcase, and sitting on Spy's lap. A quick glance showed Sniper two words printed across the front: 'RED SNIPER'.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel, and he fought the urge to reach out and hit Spy. "Ya got my file, then…very clever of ya."

"My thoughts exactly!" said Spy cheerfully as he opened the folder up. "Would you like me to read aloud?"

"Would ya like yer teeth rearranged?"

Spy ignored him, and started to read the first page. "Name: Mick Mundy. Approximate age: 37 (unable to obtain birth certificate). Country of origin: Australia. Parents: Jonathan and Margaret Mundy. No siblings or extended family on record."

"Are ya quite finished?" growled Sniper.

"I haven't got to the good part yet! Ah, such a sad story…the story of a man who spent most of his life alone in the wild, then having a sudden change of heart and embarking on a brief but unsuccessful career as a contract killer, before Reliable Excavation and Demolition scooped you up out of your own mess, and now here you are. A gripping read. The part I find particularly touching is how your parents-"

Sniper slammed on the brakes, sending the folder flying out of Spy's hands and hitting the windscreen as the van swerved to a halt. Sniper reached over and grabbed Spy by the lapels, dragging him across so that their faces were inches apart.

"Oh Mick, I never knew you cared," said Spy in the most facetious voice he could manage.

"If you _ever_ mention my parents again, I'll gut ya like a fish. Understood?" He shook Spy roughly. "And don't ever, _EVER _use my name." They glared at each other, then Sniper released him and restarted the engine, unable to stop his hands from shaking with anger.

The rest of the journey passed in an unpleasant silence, only broken by Spy occasionally humming or making remarks, always immediately cut off by Sniper. The sun was almost completely down as they reached the dilapidated shack by the side of the road, marked as the rendezvous point my Miss Pauling's purple motorbike parked outside.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Miss Pauling jumped as the headlight beams flashes across the boarded up window, sending bars of harsh light flashing across the wall, shattering the mild evening glow. She had barely noticed the sound of the engine approaching… she really should do something about her sleep deprivation. Perhaps travel back in time and tell her younger self not to take this job?

_But let's face it… even if I could do that, what other job would there be for me? I'd be bored stiff in a normal job, and I'd make a terrible housewife._

She had been fresh out of school when TF Industries had got in touch, saying that she had been talent-spotted for a job that was fast-paced, challenging, and completely top secret. She had jumped at the chance. And even now, even with the long hours and only one day off a year, she had to admit she did like her job. She had always liked to be busy, and she definitely liked the excitement that came with some missions. Even the Administrator wasn't so bad after you got used to her.

The door creaked open, and she gripped her pistol under the table. She recognised Sniper's van, but you could never be too careful. Her grip relaxed when she saw that it was, indeed, Sniper and Spy.

"Miss Pauling," Spy said graciously. "A pleasure, as always."

"Evenin'," Sniper grunted.

She waved them both over to the table at the centre of the room, which was strewn with papers.

"This, I'm afraid," she gestured to the mess of paperwork, "is your briefing. I'll try to keep it quick. Your target's name is Robert Chauveau, and you'll find him here."

She pushed a map with the location marked in red pen. She glanced at both of them quickly, and could have sworn she caught a ghost of an expression cross Spy's face, only to vanish in an instant. She blinked, but there was nothing. It had probably just been the evening light playing tricks on her, combined with her exhaustion.

"It's a few hours' drive to get there, so I'd recommend staying put for the night and going in the morning, which also gives you time to plan. This is a safe place, if you wanted to stay here."

She rummaged around, looking for anything they might find useful. There was a floorplan of the building the target was using, a few photos, and also two radio earpieces, which she pushed over to them.

"Use these to keep in touch with each other. Any questions about what you have to do?" she asked.

"Are we allowed to know why this man is wanted dead?" Spy queried.

"No, I'm sorry. Anything else?"

There was a moment of silence as both of them studied the information on the table.

"No questions? Well, in that case, I'll leave you to it. You can keep all this. Good luck!" She scooped up her helmet and pushed open the door. "And…uh…stay safe, ok?"

She grimaced as she closed the door behind her. If the Administrator had heard that… but, luckily, the Administrator wasn't here. Miss Pauling knew she was strictly forbidden from interacting too closely with the mercenaries, but she and the Administrator saw them differently. They were investments to her employer, nothing more, but after all the hours Miss Pauling spent monitoring them, she couldn't help seeing them more and more as people.

They had arguments, friendships, problems, solutions… she knew that empathising with them was a slippery and dangerous slope, but she couldn't help it. There were even times when she felt some sort of attachment to them, which only made her feel more guilty about all the lies she had to tell them on a daily basis, and how the truth behind everything they did was kept from them. She wondered if any of them would stay if they found out…

They'd hate her, certainly, and for some reason the thought of that upset her. Was she really that lonely? Seeking company from the people she was paid to spy on and lie to was bound to end badly. She had to stay focused if she wanted to keep her job.

_You REALLY need to go out make some proper friends, _she berated herself as she got onto her bike and started the engine, looking forward to a few hours of sleep before the start of her packed weekend schedule.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sniper and Spy stood for a while, rummaging through the papers Miss Pauling had left them. Some of it was useful, like the floorplan, but most of it was arbitrary. It was enough information to carry out their mission, but only just. If RED knew any more about the target, which they probably did, seeing as they wanted him dead, they weren't sharing it.

Spy had always known that RED hid things from them, but things like this did make him wonder just how much they didn't know.

"Any ideas?" asked Sniper, yawning. "I think Miss Pauling was right about stayin' here."

"We should have few problems getting to the building," said Spy, studying the map closely, "but according to this information, there will probably be guards."

"There's a few spot that look like decent snipin' perches," added Sniper, "An' a good few windows. I can cover the outside, but inside might be a problem."

"I can take care of that." Spy decided. "You could create a distraction while I go after Chauveau."

"Nah, it'd be safer ta pick him off at a distance. He'll have bodyguards, from the sound of things. You do the distractin'."

"I can handle a few hired thugs."

"No ya can't."

"Oh yes I can."

Sniper yawned again. "I bet ya can't, but we should sort this in the mornin'."

Just looking at him made Spy want to yawn, but he realised with a bit of annoyance that Sniper had a bed and he didn't. He wasn't going anywhere near that filthy van, so his options looked like sleeping in here or not sleeping at all.

Sniper seemed to notice his frown. "What's wrong? Scared of the dark?" he said, a grin starting to emerge.

"Certainly not. But where do you expect me to sleep?"

"Well, yer not comin' in my van."

Spy Snorted. "As if I need the discouragement."

"Then it looks like yer in here. Never slept on the floor before, have ya, yer pampered wuss?"

"Go back to your stink-box!" growled Spy.

"_Comfy_ stink-box," corrected Sniper, "With a mattress. An' a blanket. Sleep tight!" And with that, he walked out, leaving Spy alone in the shack.

Spy cursed his luck as he poked around, trying to find the least uncomfortable corner to sleep in. Why did he have to be stuck in the desert with that disgusting, insufferable bushman? He shivered as he lit another cigarette, trying to calm down. The desert was uncomfortably hot by day, but at night the temperature plummeted, and the shack offered very little protection from the cold.

Eventually, he chose a corner to huddle in, and tried without success to get some sleep. Hours passed…or at least it felt like hours. The thought of going out and knocking on Sniper's door even crossed his mind once, but he violently shoved it back out again. What would he ask for, anyway? To sleep on the floor in his van?

Instead, his kept mind drifting to the next day's task. He _had_ to get to Chauveau before Sniper… but he didn't want to think about any of that now. He would think of something, and it would all be fine.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Spy stiffened in fear. How could anyone have possibly found them out here? He heard something flop onto the floor, then the door closed again, and he heard footsteps moving away.

It was dark, but he could just make out something crumpled in a heap on the floor. He moved forward very carefully, and gave the mystery object a cautious prod with his foot. Nothing happened. Slowly, he reached out and took hold of it, lifting it off the floor.

It was a blanket. He only had to take one sniff to know that it belonged to Sniper. Was the bushman trying to insult him? Well, his plan wouldn't work! Spy dropped the blanket and returned to his corner.

Somehow, he felt colder than he had before. The thoughts that had been troubling him before were gone, but instead his mind was filled with thoughts of blankets… and how nice it would be to wrap himself up in one and go to sleep… and how there was one sitting by the door right now… but no, that was what Sniper wanted, and he was stronger than that! The blanket stank of bushman, anyway.

He battled with his conscience for several long minutes… then finally gave up. He went back over to where the blanket was, and picked it up off the ground. Sniper didn't have to know, did he? Spy would wake up first, get rid of the blanket, and pretend it had never happened.

He sniffed it, wrinkling his nose at the smell. _This is the most disgusting thing I have ever done_, he thought as he pulled the blanket around himself and returned to his corner, where sleep found him surprisingly quickly.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **so, you'll notice I didn't jump on the Lawrence Express when giving Sniper a first name, and I hope nobody finds this too weird. Likewise, I probably won't be boarding the HMS Josef for Medic later on… but speaking of names, I need some help! I've been trying to think of one for Spy for ages, but haven't come up with anything, so I'd love some suggestions! I may need help with Medic as well, but not until later. I'd ask my Beta, but I don't have one because I think I'd drive them crazy :P


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